


Regrets

by snails_n_brokenbones



Series: Gone, And Never Coming Back [1]
Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Father-Son Relationship, Found Family, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, Medical Inaccuracies, Mentions of mild toxic masculinity?, Minor Character Death, Multi, PLATONIC!!! - Freeform, Panic Attacks, Post-Hunger Games, how does one tag?, how to tag?, it's more implied, like I know nothing that I should
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-15 08:54:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29556618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snails_n_brokenbones/pseuds/snails_n_brokenbones
Summary: Claudius Templesmith's main regret was making his announcement, that there were now two victors of the 74th Hunger Games, too late.
Relationships: Claudius Templesmith/Original Character, Haymitch Abernathy/Original Female Character(s), Katniss Everdeen/Peeta Mellark
Series: Gone, And Never Coming Back [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2171463
Comments: 4
Kudos: 7





	1. : : Claudius Templesmith : :

**Author's Note:**

> This is dedicated to my mum, who gave me this concept after I spent roughly an hour rambling about THG to her. Thank you for listening to my info-dumps <3

Claudius Templesmith had many regrets. The first was not having any children, anyone to inherit his legacy and his money when he passed. He had Quinn, but that marriage was unofficial. Nothing binded the two men legally. 

The second regret was freezing up when Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark held up those deadly berries for the whole world to see. Claudius couldn't put his finger on what made him freeze. Fear, perhaps. But it was something more, something that churned in his stomach and made bile rise in his throat

Two kids. Just two kids, not even of age, risking everything for what? Each other? Their pride? Why. He wanted to know why they did that. Why they were prepared to die. Why they were prepared to die and leave their families. 

Claudius Templesmith's main regret was making his announcement, that there were now two victors of the 74th Hunger Games, too late. 

His words echoed in the arena by the time that the berries had passed through the Victor's throats. They'd swallowed it. They were dead. 

And it was all his fault because he couldn't understand why. 

The next seconds flashed by as Claudius paused mid sentence. Too late. He was too late. 

There was yelling from the mentors. Smashing of glass. More yelling, but it was from sorrow rather than rage. Sorrowful sobs that echoed through the building. Screaming. More screaming. 

Something was happening on screen. A hovercraft had landed, trying to do something to save the already deceased, but Claudius couldn't focus on that. He, instead, stared numbly up at the ceiling, mind slipping away already. Slipping from reality. Anywhere but there. Anyway but the chaos. The chaos that was all his fault. 

He shook his head quickly and stared at the screens, which were still running. He was surprised that no one had turned them off, but there were probably more important things to focus on. Like making sure that there was actually a victor. The medical team had given up on Katniss, shaking their heads after trying to find her pulse, but they were all huddled around Peeta, some of them pulling out large equipment from the hovercraft. Maybe there was hope left. Maybe Claudius hadn't screwed up beyond belief. 

Or maybe that was all wishful thinking. 

There were heavy footsteps, and more yelling. Claudius's door was slammed open by none other than Haymitch Abernathy. 

Again, time flashed by at lightspeed. One second, Cladius was watching as Haymitch barged in, and the next he had a knife up against his throat. 

Oh. 

Oh no. 

"You." Haymitch's tone was seething with anger, with the need to blame someone, and who easier to blame than Cladius? "They're dead because of you. If you were just a bit quicker-" Haymitch's voice trailed off, but his grip on the knife stayed strong and firm. 

"Mr Abernathy, can we please have this conversation elsewhere? Any other time. Without the knife to my neck, perhaps?" Cladius asked, voice wavering more than he would have liked to admit. The knife was rather terrifying. 

"They're gone." Haymitch repeated, eyes angry as he lowered the knife. Hollow. Something within the old drunk was gone. Was gone and was never coming back. 

"Peeta might be okay.... They're bringing him back." Cladius offered, finally relaxing now that he wasn't close to being slit across the throat. 

Haymitch shook his head. "Believe me, the second that that the girl's heart stopped beating, he left us. He's gone. Both of them are gone."

Silence. 

Silence, because something was gone. Was gone and was never coming back. 

Effie Trinket rushed into the room, pausing at the sight of the two men staring into each other's eyes. "I-" She exhaled slowly, and Cladius pretended not to see how her eyes ere slightly damp. Effie wasn't hollow. She was filled to the brim with unwanted emotions. "Peeta's just landed back here. They'll be taking him into surgery now, but they don't know if he'll be- If he'll-"

Silence. 

Effie and Haymitch rushed off, and Claudius stared at them with blank eyes. Coffee. Caffeine. He needed some kind of substance in his body for what was about to come. What was about to happen to him. So he got some coffee. Black. Claudius liked black coffee. Black coffee was good. Focus on the black coffee and worry about the impending disaster later.

When Claudius got back to his office, half-drunken cup of black coffee clutched in his hand, there was a rose resting on his desk. A white rose. A gleaming white rose, that, when he cautiously brought it to his nose, smelled of fresh blood. 

Surprisingly, Claudius wasn't exactly scared. He'd half-expected this. Partially expected for that rose, that warning, to end up on his desk after this catastrophe. It wasn't surprising, but Claudius felt sick to his bones nonetheless. The rose was a warning. No, not a warning. He'd ran out of warnings at this point. 

The rose was an execution date. 

Claudius packed a couple things into the cupboards, locking them with the small metal key. He then hid the key under the cushions of the plush velvet sofa. Everything else that was tied to him would probably be incernirated in some way, but he could at least leave something behind. Something to pass onto the next person who occupied the office. A legacy. He left a couple of his favourite books, a ring that Quinn had bought him, and his journals detailing all the plans for past Hunger Games, and ones to come after. Journals that were filled with dirty secrets and Capitol gossip. Journals that had the capability to destroy someone. 

He doubted that anyone would actually find them, but it gave Claudius peace of mind to know that they weren't going to go up in flames. 

He examined the room one final time, staring out the large windows, running his fingers over the lavish curtains, over the wooden carved decoration on the bookshelves. It was a beautiful office, and he just hope that the next person would appreciate the fine eye for beautiful detail as much as he did. 

Then Claudius started the journey through the corridors to where he knew the President would be waiting. The corridors were bare, offices left untidy and papers everywhere. It appeared that everyone had left in a rush. Claudius took his time, breathing in and out deeply. Every breath, every second, waz a countdown until his last. Until his last breath. Until his last second. Until his untimely death. 

It was a shame, really, but Claudius was helpless to stop it. He couldn't go back in time. He couldn't go back and stop himself from freezing. He couldn't act faster. 

Claudius didn't pause before he knocked on the President's office. If this was going to happen, he could at least make it as seamless as possible. Make less work for the President. So he entered the room quietly, the atmosphere filled with unsolved tension. 

President Snow lifted his head when Claudius entered. "Ah, Mr Templesmith." He smiled easily at Claudius, a small spot of red blood resting on his pink lips. Fresh blood. "Please, do sit down." Claudius complied, sitting in the plush chair across from the massive desk. The room smelled of roses. It was almost suffocating. "Would you like some tea?" Snow asked, but Claudius shook his head silently. 

"Now, I'm fairly certain you know why you are here. Am I correct, Mr Templesmith?" Snow questioned, leaning forward on the dark desk. 

Another nod. 

Snow sighed, rubbing his temple with two slender fingers. "These Games were so promising. A love story, such as Romeo and Juliet from before the Dark Ages. Two fates intertwined, and only one could win. It was perfectly planned out. It was supposed to be perfect. Heartbreakinginly perfect. The star-crossed lovers of District 12. Personally, I was hoping that the boy would win. He'd make a much better Victor, and I know several that would love to have a go with him, if you catch my drift."

Claudius swallowed the lump in his throat. "Peeta Mellark might still make it out. He's in the hospital currently, Effie Trinket told me so. He might still-"

Snow held up one finger, stopping Claudius in his tracks. The small drip of vibrant blood has made it's way down Snow's chin, small droplets landing on the desk. "Perhaps, but perhaps he mightn't make it. Perhaps the odds aren't in his favour. And even if he does survive, how will these games be remembered? Will they be the games where we, where you, nearly let two measly kids ruin everything?Where you let our victors slip out between your greasy fingers. You've let them show us up. You've handed them the upper hand on a silver platter. And I simply can't risk that happening again."

Claudius's stomach dropped to his knees when Snow pulled out a small glass bowl of oh so familiar blue berries. Nightlock.

How ironic. 

Snow smiled, a sinister smile that carved out Claudius's insides with a dagger. "Indeed. Now, I've heard that death via these small berries is extremely quick. No pain whatsoever. Would you mind giving it a try?"

Before Claudius could say something, though he had no idea what he would say, Snow laughed. 

"How could I forget! You get one phone call. Your responses will be monitored closely by me. If you breath a world of what is about to happen, I promise that I will not grant you a painful demise." Snow said, handing Claudius the phone. "You get two minutes."

Two minutes, but so much that needed to be said. Claudius wasn't good at goodbyes. Dramatic entrances, yes, but goodbyes? No. But he took the phone and dialed a number that was engrained in his mind. 

"Claudius? Everything okay? I saw what happened-" Quinn's voice came through loud and clear through the phone. The same voice that Claudius has fallen in love with. 

"Yes, everything's okay. I promise. Just- I love you." An understatement, but it was a good start. 

Claudius could hear Quinn sigh. "Me too, I love you too, but what's going on? You never call out of the blue like this. Something's wrong." 

Snow was watching him, Claudius was aware, but for that moment it felt just like him and Quinn. Just like they were high school boys falling in love all over again. Highschool boys skipping gym class to make out in the locker rooms, highschool boys promising to love each other until death parted them. And now they shall have to part. "Nothing's wrong. It's a bit chaotic here, but we're working through it. I'm just feeling sentimental today, especially with what happened to the tributes. I'll be home soon, I promise."

Quinn exhaled slowly. "Okay, yeah. Everything's okay. I'll make some of that lamb stew for tonight, the one with the steamed carrots. Your favourite. Claud- I love you."

"I love you too." 

Snow took the phone back, smiling again. Silence. No more words needed to be said. Claudius one what he needed to do. Now it was just a matter of courage. He had to find the courage to die. 

It was funny, Claudius supposed, that his last thought as he brought the berries to his lips was that he'd never truly know if Peeta Mellark would survive after all. 

Hah.


	2. : : Haymitch Abernathy : :

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love exploring Haymitch as a character, and his back story, so this was the perfect opportunity to do that, and end up sobbing.

Haymitch Abernathy hadn't allowed himself to love in a long time. First, it was because his uncle had told him that only wimps fell in love, and Haymitch wasn't a wimp, right? Haymitch had known better than go argue with his Uncle Bennett, so he had just nodded, silently vowing to not fall in love. 

The second time that he'd made that vow was on his first reaping. There was a lot of sobbing that day. One of his closest friends, Lizzy, had been reaped along with a fourteen year old from the Town. With teary eyes, Haymitch had asked his mother if Lizzy was ever coming back, if she'd ever play tag in the town square with him. 

Lizzy died in the bloodbath. As did the boy from the town. 

Haymitch went to the funeral, and that was how he met Odette. She was Lizzy's cousin, and read out a poem in honour of the fallen tributes. 

And Haymitch had fallen in love again. 

He saw Odette around and about. She always wore her dark brown hair in a perfect bun, and her green eyes sparkled. Green eyes, like the bright grass outside of the fence. Odette was beautiful, silent as she passed him, never making eye contact. She was graceful. She was amazing. 

And Haymitch fell in love. 

The third time he swore not to fall in love was when he was reaped. Sixteen years old and his life was doomed. No marrying Odette, who he'd slowly grown close to. No living his life to the fullest. Haymitch was about to die and had no time to care about love. 

Perhaps Uncle Bennet had been correct. Perhaps love was for wimps, and Haymitch was no wimp. He was strong-ish, but most important was the brain in his skull. That have him the upper hand against the other tributes. They shouldn't have counted him out so quickly. Haymitch had a chance, albeit a small one. 

He won. He won the second quarter quell. 

And when he came back home, finally, Odette kissed him. Asked him to toast with her. They had been somewhere inbetween dating and just being friends before he was reaped, but they carefully toed the line, never going further than small pecks on cheeks and foreheads. 

And for once, maybe Haymitch could love without repurcuasions. Sure, he'd have to mentor, and the victory tour was coming up soon, but he had his life. He had a life and a wife and a future to look forward to. And he was going to live in every second of it. 

The next Tuesday, there was a fire. From a stove. Apparently. In the Abernathy home. His mother and brother had stayed there, until Haymitch got settled in his new house. A fire that destroyed everything. Everything. 

Odette came with Haymitch go the funeral. She offered her condolences, head bowed and dark hair splayed out like soft curtains. But Haymitch was already long gone, and a part of him was never coming back. He was gone. 

And then Odette left. 

It was that moment, the second that Odette was buried beside his mother and brother on the Thursday, that Haymitch promised to never fall in love ever again. This time, it wasn't a naive kid making that vow. No, Haymitch had seen too much to be considered naive, or a kid for that matter. The person who stood at the graveyard, staring up at the sky with dark eyes as he dropped some lilies onto the ground, was a man. A man who had grown up too fast. A man who had learned his lesson for being too witty. 

A man who was all alone. 

From that day onwards, Haymitch closed off the small shriveled thing he called his heart. He couldn't afford for what was left of it to break. Loving someone meant being vulnerable and facing the fact that you might get hurt. Uncle Bennet had been wrong, Haymitch realised. Wimps didn't fall in love. It took a great deal of courage to fall in love, to accept the pain that came with it. If that's what it took to fall in love, Haymitch was fine with being a wimp. 

Until the 74th Hunger Games. 

The kids snuck up on him. He hasn't meant for it to happen. They snuck up on him, and he became fond of then. 

The girl was harder. She looked so much like Odette some days, all except for her grey eyes. But she acted like him. She didn't want to fall in love. She didn't want this, neither of them did. They both had the boy to blame for that. 

Haymitch didn't know how to describe the boy. He had, when cleaning Haymitch up on the train, made some comment. "You sure are lucky. I mean, I never got tucked in like this, even when I was little." Haymitch barely remembered, but the boy's self-depricating tone stayed with him. 

Effie had described it as an overwhelming need to protect him. Haymitch was inclined to agree. The boy was too good for the games, and Haymitch wanted to protect the last remaining bit of goodness in the world. 

If Katniss were fire, than Peeta was light. Light at the end of the tunnel. Light that showed the way. Light that was flickering away through Haymitch's fingertips. 

For the days to come, berries would haunt his nightmares. Shining blue berries taunted Haymitch, taunted him for not being good enough. And he had been so close. So damn close and he'd failed. They'd slipped right through his fingertips and right into his heart. And they were gone. Gone and never coming back. 

Haymitch sat for ten hours in the cramped hospital corridor with Effie Trinket, just watching the clock tick by. He'd waited there before, always with other mentors who were waiting for their tributes to be mended enough to visit. Usually Finnick. He made adequate company. 

Ten, long, torturous hours of waiting before a bedraggled Doctor finally gave them news. 

"He's out of surgery. We're still not sure of he'll make it through the night, but we've done all that we can do currently. Problem is, the poison from the berries is still in his bloodstream, even after we managed to remove the berries themselves from his system-" 

Haymitch held up one hand to silence the doctor. "Can I visit him now or not?" He asked. That was all that mattered, seeing the boy with his eyes. He needed physical proof that Peeta was still breathing, that his golden heart was still beating. That at least some goodness was left on the world. 

The doctor nodded and pointed towards one of the rooms. The door was open just a sliver. 

Haymitch felt his pulse echoing in the empty cavity of his chest as he approached the hospital room. He opened the door slightly wider and stepped through, barely noticing the normal irritating click-clack of Effie's high heels. Haymitch took a deep breath before he stepped in, trying to prepare himself. 

He wasn't prepared. 

In fact, Haymitch was anything but prepared for how small the boy looked compared to the hospital bed, compared to all the beeping machines by his bedside. Tubes going in and out of pale skin. And the boy. 

Haymitch didn't notice Effie gasping loudly behind him as he sat down on the chair beside the hospital bed. Beside the boy who had wiggled into Haymitch's little old heart, and was now slipping away. 

He stayed there for hours, late into the night. Doctors and Nurses passed in and out, checking on Peeta and advising Haymitch to get some sleep. He just glared at them all. He wasn't going anywhere. He was going to stay beside his boy, whether they liked it or not. 

Haymitch had nearly drifted off into the realm of dreams, or more commonly nightmares, when there was a strangled cry from beside him. Haymitch scoffed at first, thinking it was Effie, before remembering that she had left ages ago. 

Oh. 

Oh no. 

Haymitch leaped up on to his feet, glancing around widely before his eyes landed on those cerulean blue ones. The boy's eyes. Open. Though he'd never admit, Haymitch's own coal grey eyes might have teared up. Only maybe. 

"Oh kid. You gave us quite the scare. A massive scare. What we're you thinking?" Haymitch questioned, running a hand through his tangled hair. He understood why they did that. He would have done the same for Odette in a heartbeat, but that didn't mean that it wasn't anymore of a stupid decision. That's what love did to a person. It destroyed everything that kept them sane. 

Peeta blinked blearily a couple time, visibly confused. "I didn't- I couldn't- Not without Katniss." He stammered, voice hoarse. Like sandpaper running against a chalkboard. Awful, but the boy was speaking, and he was alive. 

"I know kiddo. I know." Haymitch replied sadly, staring up at the ceiling. It hadn't really sunk in that Katniss was truly gone, because it was hard to imagine such a large fire being doused out. 

Peeta closed his eyes, still as a corpse. The only signal that he was alive was the small huffs of his chest, and the beeping of the heart monitor. "Dad, I'm tired. Can I sleep? I want to fall asleep."

Haymitch just nodded silently, not having the heart to correct the boy. Besides, he found that he didn't mind it exactly. It hurt, but in a semi-okay way. 

"Yeah, you can sleep." He eventually replied. 

Peeta hooded slightly, wincing harshly at the movement. Haymitch could see how every breath looked like a battle, and every time he blinked it was more of a challenge to open them again. Each second was countdown before the boy fell, and there was nothing Haymitch could do to stop it. He was helpless. 

Peeta smiled, though it was closer to a grimace. "Dad. Can I visit Katniss? I want Katniss. Please."

There was no denying it. Haymitch was tearing up. He blinked back wet tears, before rubbing his eyes against his sleeve. "Yeah. Listen, Kiddo, if you need to go- I'm-" He exhaled painfully. "I'm not gonna stop you." 

Peeta blinked again, his eyes saying everything that needed to be said. He swallowed the limo in his throat, even that movement gruggish and limp. He started at Haymitch, eyes fading. "Stay?" He mouthed with dry and cracked lips. 

Haymitch nodded. "Of course." 

He held Peeta's hand for the rest of the night, even when the boy flat lines and Doctors and Nurses tried to save him and failed, even as the room was silent as the Doctor announced regretfully that the time of death was 02:37. Even when Effie and the Nurses tried to drag him away, Haymitch stayed clutching a dead boy's hand. 

Maybe his kids had snuck up on him, but maybe, just maybe, Haymitch didn't entirely regret it.


	3. : : Primrose Everdeen : :

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was surprisingly hard to write, but mainly the panic attack Prim has. I mainly based it off my experiences with them, but to me at least it comes off as jarring and odd-

Prim had been finishing dinner when it happened. She would have rather been watching, using her full attention to focus on what was happening in the Hunger Games, but Katniss wouldn't have liked that. Katniss would have told Prim to eat and not worry about her. So Prim did that part. The eating part. Not the not-worrying part. Because Prim was most definitely worrying about her older sister. 

And then Katniss took out the berries. 

And ate them. 

Prim may have had somewhat limited knowledge of the wild berries outside the district fence, but she wasn't stupid. Far from it. She knew what Nightlock was, and just how deadly they were. There was no chance. No chance for survival. 

Katniss was really gone. 

Prim dropped the rest of her food to the floor, hand trembling too much to hold on to anything. The world around her spun out of focus. Everything was too much. Too much. Prim was faintly aware of her need to breath, but that was barely a concern. It felt like something inside her was slipping, slipping away. Slipping far away where she couldn't find it. Nothing was okay, Prim thought, as she slipped down onto the floor. Nothing was okay. 

"Deep breaths, Little duck." A disembodied voice said. Prim couldn't turn to look at them, but she felt the soothing pressure on her shoulders as they rubbed circles into her back. Slowly, she came back from what ever place she'd gone, rebuilding her senses piece by piece. 

She was sat on the floor. She could see the wooden floor. She could hear faint voices behind her, but mainly the person behind her whispering soft reassurances. It smelled of the dinner they'd just eaten, a stew made from a rabbit that Gale had gotten just that day. She could feel her dress beneath her fingertips, the fabric clenched tightly. 

Prim blinked a couple times, her limbs feeling like lead as she sat up straighter. "Thank you." She whispered quietly, tucking a loose strand of her hair behind her ear. 

Hazelle, who must have been the one behind Prim, the one who called her little duck, smiled sadly. "It's alright. How do you feel now?"

Prim considered that for a moment, and was about to reply that she still felt like nothing would ever be okay, when there was a loud scream from the kitchen, and a knife went into the wall. Another scream. 

Hazelle stood up quickly. "Gale!" She said in a half-gasp. 

Prime turned to see Gale's face, full of anger and resentment. But there was also a bit of hurt in his eyes, a slight edge of youth chipped away. Part of Gale was gone, Prim realised. Part of him had already left with Katniss. 

"She died," Gale spat, clutching a tea cup in one hand. "For a stupid boy from the town. She's gone, because of him. Katniss is gone!" He yelled, throwing the cup down on the floor. Prim watched in horror as her mother's best china smashed on the floor, sending small chips of cup across the wooden floors. 

Gale just stood there, frozen while tears leaked from his eyes. Frozen. Hazelle quickly helped clean up the mess, apologising and apologising for it all, though Prim's mother just shook her head. 

Prim started down at the floor, fiddling with the laced edge of her dress. It was fancier than what was usually worn on a weekday, but there were still reporters and cameras all over District 12, and Prim wanted go look good for her sister. 

Not that there was any use now. 

"Pimmy! Pimmy!" A small voice laughed, clutching Prim's hand. Posy, perhaps the only person who wasn't heartbroken in the entire house, even in the whole district 12. She was too young to understand what she'd just seen. She probably thought that they'd just gone to sleep. 

Prim smiled tiredly up at Posy, who grinned back. Posy chambered into Prim's lap, snuggling into the soft fabric of the dress. 

"Kat-ness win?" Posy asked, wide eyes staring up at Prim. So much innocence was held in those eyes, so fragile, so beautiful. 

Prim shook her head slowly, tears pricking at her own eyes. "No, Katniss isn't coming back. She didn't win." But then again, did anyone truly win the games? Sure, each year, up until now, people survived, but what was the prize? Enough food to survive? That wasn't a prize. None of the victors seemed very happy. Something within them had changed during their time in the arena. 

And then Prim realised. 

It wasn't fair for them to loose their very sense of self, their last strand of goodness, to survive. For their families to survive. 

For for what felt like the first time in years, Prim was angry. So damn angry. Not towards the Victors, nor Peeta. No, Prim was angry towards the Capitol and the twisted game they all existed within. 

Posy's face slowly crumpled and those big eyes were full to the brim with clear tears. "Kat-ness no come back? Why? Why is Kat-ness gone?"

Prim didn't have the answers that Posy wanted, so she just cradled the small child close to her chest, hiding her face from the horrors of their world. 

And it was that day that Prim knew that she had to grow up. 

The days that followed the end of the 74th Hunger Games were hard. Prim pushed through the emotional hurt, the heartbreak and the grief, just to survive. There was no time to mourn the loss of Katniss, because their mother was already slipping away, and Prim had to care for both of them. Just like after their father died, though there was no Katniss to go out and hunt in the forrest. There was Gale though, and he always dropped of fresh meat with a sultry scowl, but only on Sundays. They made do, and Prim snuck through the fence occasionally to grab some herbs. She didn't hunt though. 

Then the supply trains stopped coming. Instead of the monthly parcel days they were so close to getting, so damn close, they got nothing. The Seam were used to not getting much from the Capitol, so it wasn't much of a change, but the Merchants were struggling. Businesses were closing down left and right without their needed supplies, and the District as a whole was failing. When Prim had mentioned that to Gale, he had laughed. Said that the townies deserved it. 

Rye Mellark showed up at the door one day, looking much more bedraggled than she remembered him to be. His smile was thin and clearly forced, but he didn't look like he meant trouble. So she opened the door and gave him a questioning look. 

He awkwardly ran a hand through his floppy blond curls. "Listen, umm, could we talk? Please?" He asked, tilting his head to the side. 

Prim raised one eyebrow at that, but nodded hesitantly. "Okay. Mama, I'll be out for a bit!" There wasn't much point in yelling to her mother, since she didn't do much other than rest or stare into blank space, but Prim felt better doing it anyway. 

The two of them walked to the edge of where the District met the outside, with Rye trailing behind Prim. She beckoned for him to follow her under the fence, and he followed. They walked through the forest until they arrived at a large rock. 

"So," Prim began, leaning up against the rock. "What is it that you want to talk about?" She asked. 

Rye bit his lip. "My mother threw a kitchen pan across the room when it happened. She was furious. Livid, even." 

"Gale did a similar thing. Except his weapon of choice was a knife. And a teacup. My mother's best tea cup, in fact." She told him, snorting. Her snort made Rye giggle, and soon the two of them were laughing loudly together like two school girls. Once she'd finished laughing, it turned into a half-broken sob that wretched it's way out of her mouth. Rye frowned. 

"I'm so sorry." He said softly, head tilted up at the sky. 

Prim shook her head. "Not your fault." She replied plainly. 

He gave her a look, one that she didn't have the energy to decipher. "It isn't yours either." 

Silence. 

Silence, because Prim was having a hard time digesting what Rye had said. It wasn't her fault, apparently. But it was. Katniss had volunteered for her. If it weren't for Prim getting reaped, then Katniss would be home and everything would be fine. Everything would be okay. 

Rye broke the silence first. "He was really in love with her. He used to talk about her all the time, and as the older brother, of course I listened to his ramblings. He really cared for her, and he wanted to protect her. He really did."

Prim sighed. "She did as well. She never spoke of it, but she did." 

Then it was Rye's turn to be skeptical. His eye brows quirked up slightly, and he frowned. "She did? Kind of seemed like she was, I dunno, faking it for the cameras?" He suggested. 

Prim clenched her hands into fists, shaking her head. "Katniss can't act. Never could. They tried to cast her as the lead in the school musical because she had a nice voice, but her acting was dry like year-old bread. Whatever she showed on camera, she meant it, even just a little bit." 

Rye didn't reply, but he did nod slightly. And so they sat, just outside the district, until the sun slowly faded behind their view. 

Beautiful green trees against a sunset orange, and Prim couldn't help but smile.


End file.
